


baby bend over

by nevershootamockingbird



Category: UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevershootamockingbird/pseuds/nevershootamockingbird
Summary: Matthew still has his collar on when Clayton gets home.He’s whistling in the kitchen, some tune Clayton can’t name, loud enough that he doesn’t seem to hear the door open or shut. Clayton hangs his hat and overcoat, takes the opportunity to study his partner in the relative stillness; stripped down to his shirtsleeves and slacks, barefoot against the wood floor, broad shoulders shifting and bunching as he cleans dishes, forearms bared up to the elbow.His collar is neat and pristine at his throat, and Claytonwants.
Relationships: Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	baby bend over

**Author's Note:**

> So in the UnDeadwood discord, one of the ever gracious members gave me free reign to run with one of the snippets they posted: "clayton slowly opening matthew up and then fucking him over their kitchen table. both are fully dressed and clayton is kind enough to eventually wrap a bare hand around matthew's dick as clayton leans over him to bite at the back of matthew's neck just above his collar as he fucks into him."
> 
> I enjoyed writing this one. Hope you all like it, too!

Matthew still has his collar on when Clayton gets home. 

He’s whistling in the kitchen, some tune Clayton can’t name, loud enough that he doesn’t seem to hear the door open or shut. Clayton hangs his hat and overcoat, takes the opportunity to study his partner in the relative stillness; stripped down to his shirtsleeves and slacks, barefoot against the wood floor, broad shoulders shifting and bunching as he cleans dishes, forearms bared up to the elbow. 

His collar is neat and pristine at his throat, and Clayton  _ wants _ . 

It’s easy to bypass the floorboards that squeak, and he slips silently through the house, returning from their room a moment later with a small bottle in his pocket and a sharp smile on his face. 

Matthew doesn’t notice him until a hand lands on his hip, tight and sudden. 

“Good lord! Clayton, you don’t gotta be sneakin’ around our home.” There’s a laugh in his voice, red creeping across the back of his neck as he relaxes, but Clayton isn’t ready to see him relax just yet. He tightens the grip on his hip, palms at his ass with his other hand, watches as Matty tenses again, a shiver running down his spine. “Baby?”

“Over the table,” he says, and there’s a dark curl of satisfaction in his gut, a low swell of heat as he watches Matthew comply so eagerly. It’s easy to crowd him against the sturdy kitchen table that Matthew made himself, easy to place a hand between his shoulder blades and press down, down, down, until he’s braced on his elbows, forehead pressed against hands that are clasped as if in prayer. 

Clayton rocks his hardening cock against Matthew’s ass; the answering moan is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

“Keep your hands there, Reverend,” and the order earns him a quiet whine, like Matty’s gone and clenched his jaw shut. 

That just won’t do. 

“Uh-uh, sweetheart, wanna hear you.” He reaches around to unbuckle Matthew’s belt, popping open the buttons of his fly before dragging the zipper down slow. It sounds obscenely loud in the still of their kitchen.

Matthew lets out a shuddering sigh, muscles shifting under his shirt, and Clayton grins at the gasp let out when he suddenly tugs his pants and smalls down to his thighs. The back of his partner’s neck is a deep red, and the flush just darkens when Clayton palms his ass cheeks, squeezing flesh and muscle tight. Matthew whines low, pressing back into the grip. “ _ Clay _ .”

“Easy, baby, I got you,” he murmurs back, squeezing once more before procuring the bottle of oil from his pocket. He’s not in the mood to tease, and the first finger slides in easy, Matthew moaning loud and breathy at the intrusion. Clayton pumps his finger slowly, uses his other hand to spread an asscheek and digs his nails in, intent on leaving another mark for Matty to feel the next day. 

Maybe he’ll be lucky enough to count them all, if they have the time. 

“C’mon, I can take it,” Matthew gasps after a moment, arching his hips back a little more, and Clayton girns, pulls his finger out entirely before pressing two back in up to the knuckle. It earns him a broken keen, and he has to lean down, has to suck a mark into Matty’s tailbone as he thrusts his fingers slowly. 

He knows just how to touch, how to thrust and crook and drag his fingers, how to pull all manner of noises out of his partner’s throat, a performance just for him. By the time two fingers has turned into three, rubbing over his prostate every few thrusts, Clayton can tell that Matthew is near tears, can see the precome splattered over the floor beneath them. 

“Makin’ a mess already,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers completely to watch Matthew squirm, clenching around nothing. It’s a relief to finally undo his pants, stroking his cock and slicking it up, teasing the head against his hole without pushing in. “You gonna clean it up later?”

“I will get on my knees and lick the whole damn floor, just fuck me, Clayton,  _ please _ ,” Matthew begs, and oh, Clayton loves to hear him like this, unspooled and wound up all at once, still buttoned up in his fucking collar but gagging for cock. 

It’d be just mean to deny him, really. 

“Not the whole floor, baby,” and he pushes in slow, moans at the hot clench and easy slide, not stopping until the open zip of his fly is pressed against Matthew’s ass, “Just gotta lick up your own come.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, Clay, please, fuck me.” The words are rushed and desperate, Matty’s voice already hoarse, and Clayton can only comply, gripping his partner’s hips tight as he pulls out slowly before thrusting forward  _ hard _ . Matthew keens, head jerking up, and Clayton grins, feral, as he repeats the motion. 

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, thrusting into his partner hard and fast, keeping a bruising grip on his hips to hold him still. Matthew falls apart fast, crying out and mewling against the table, bracing himself best as he can as Claytong does his best to fuck all coherent thought out of him. 

The way his cock’s still leaking a puddle onto the floor, he thinks he’s doing a pretty fuckin’ good job of it. 

“Enjoyin’ yourself, baby?” He leans forward, curling over his husband’s sweat-soaked shirt and pressing a kiss to Matthew’s neck. The angle has him rolling his hips, barely pulling out, just rutting forward steadily, and Clayton can tell how well it’s working for Matthew, the way he clenches down and squirms under him and whimpers like he needs it. 

Clayton can tell it’s working for him, but he can also tell it won’t be enough. 

“Need somethin’, sweetheart?” He asks, breath fanning out hot against the nape of Matty’s neck, and his partner lets out a punched-out sound that’s almost a sob, desperate and wanting. Clayton presses his smile to damp skin, groans low as he feels his own ograsm building quick. “Better ask if you need help, baby. Don’t know if I’ll let you come once I do.”

“Please, your hand,” Matthew gasps out, the prettiest prayer Clayton’s ever heard, “Please, let me come, Clay,  _ please _ .”

“Well, when you beg so nice,” and finally he reaches one hand around, wraps it around Matthew’s thick cock, wet and messy already. His partner cries out, voice cracking, and Clayton tightens his grip, strokes fast and rough like he likes, once, twice, three times before Matthew’s body seizes, muscles tensing all at once. 

Clayton bites at the back of his neck, sudden and fierce, and Matthew spills onto the floor with an almighty wail. 

He strokes him through it, hips rolling still, losing his rhythm as heat grows and unfurls in his gut. A hiccuping sob lets him know when Matty’s too sensitive, and he pulls his hand away, heedless of the come on it as he grips back at his partner’s hip. He stays bent over his husband, rutting forward as he chases after his own pleasure, snarling, “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” and it’s a breathless, broken plea, Matthew’s voice wrecked, and oh, that’ll be fun for him when it comes time to give sermon in the morning. Clayton huffs out a laugh, licks at the bite mark he’s left just above Matty’s collar, just to hear the whimper that falls from his partner’s mouth. He sounds near tears when he begs, “Clayton, please, baby,  _ please _ .” 

He’s never been good at saying no to that voice. 

Clayton comes with a loud moan, fingers pressing bruises into Matthew’s hips as he buries his cock in his ass, finally stilling as he spills deep and hot inside of him. Matty whimpers below him, and the weak, needy sound is almost enough to make Clayton wish he could keep going. 

He licks once more at the bite, already bruising dark, and thinks that it probably won’t be long before he’s hard again, anyway. 

“Jesus Christ.” The words pull another laugh out of him, and he slowly straightens up, smoothes a hand down the damp material over Matthew’s spine before he begins to slowly pull his softening cock out. 

“Not supposed to take the Lord’s name in vain,” he mutters, grinning when Matthew whines and flips him off over his shoulder. Clayton takes a step back as he tucks himself back into his pants, slowly looking over his handiwork. 

Matthew is still bent over the table, neck damp with sweat and shirt clinging to him; bruises bloom bright on the nape of his neck, his hips; his ass is red, a little chafed from Clayton’s button and zipper, and his hole looks wet and used, come starting to trickle down his balls. 

There’s a mess of come on the floor between his feet, and Clayton takes a deep breath, makes sure his voice comes out even as he drawls, “Well, baby, you made me a promise. Time to get to cleanin’, don’t you think?”

There’s a sharp inhale from the man in front of him, and then Matthew is looking over his shoulder, red mouth all slick and open just a little, pupils still blown so wide the black has near swallowed up the warm brown of his iris. 

“Like you said,” and Clayton grins slow, a gentle heat sparking up his spine, “You’re gonna lick it clean. So get to lickin’.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this one, hopefully I kept them true to character. 
> 
> Title is from "Yoga" by Janelle Monae, because it was just so on the nose and I couldn't not. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading! You can find me over on [tumblr](https://nevershootamockingbird.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/daleytwin1) if you feel like yelling with me about these characters, this show, or, you know, anything else!


End file.
